


Memories

by Cuillere



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-08-01 04:18:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16277654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuillere/pseuds/Cuillere
Summary: This story is part of theLLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:FeedbackShort commentsLong commentsQuestionsConstructive criticism“<3” as extra kudosReader-reader interactionLLF Comment BuilderI reply to comments unless you don't want me to (sometimes I feel shy when I’m reading and not up to starting a conversation, for example), feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!





	Memories

They had all been tense for a while now. Knowing slavery was going on here was already bad, but hearing that elf telling what had transpired, describing the raids, telling about the shouts, the cries and the restlessness, as well as witnessing his stress and anxiety had been a hard blow. All were set on putting this to an end, as fast as possible.

As they arrive where the chief of this repulsive traffic was preparing and he starts trying to trade with the warden, Wynne lets her eyes dart around the room, preparing for the fight she knows is coming. The wardens wouldn’t let this man leave.

As she is counting the criminals - there are seven, including the mage - she suddenly recognises one of them and her eyes dart back to him.  
But it isn’t Neldyr. It could never have been. Unhelpfully, her mind supplies the images that go with the reasoning.

*Just as the three young apprentices rush past her, Wynne recognises Neldyr. What's left of him, at least. She recognises most of his facial features but his form is taller and wider than he ever was. He’s hunched on himself, but the unnatural wideness of his shoulders and the gnarled reddish flesh is unmistakable: he’s turned into an abomination. But his eyes are wide and scared, the process has only just happened, he’s still trying to fight it.*

Wynne shakes her head swiftly to shake the image off. This man is not Neldyr. This is a bandit who partakes in slave trafficking.

As her attention is brought back to the discussion, her friends and the criminal agree to disagree and announce the inevitable fight. Wynne takes half a step back and starts her incantation as the wardens launch to the right and Zevran to the left, to each of the side staircases. They have barely reached them when Wynne finished the spell that shakes most of the room, undermining their opponents’ equilibrium.

The heat of combat and the concentration required for her spells are enough to take Wynne’s mind off of Neldyr for just a few moments, before she makes eye contact with him, angrily glancing up at her.  
Quickly checking on how everyone is doing, she prepares herself for closer combat. With her protection up, Wynne is just starting the incantation for a Winter’s Grasp as the thug arrives up the stairs. As she meets his gaze again, her mind crashes to the tower again.

*The tall figure straightens up and Wynne knows Neldyr is truly gone, now. But it still hurts to see it confirmed as his eyes now only display pain and hate.*

The mix of reality and memories was a troubling experience and it takes Wynne a second too long to freeze the thug into place. Her left arm is now adorned with a large cut, luckily mostly through her leather gauntlet.

Her assailant frozen and her sense of danger now heightened, Wynne takes another look at the rest of the fight. Zevran is bouncing around two frustrated thugs and taunting them in the process. The wardens already dealt with two bandits and attack now the third one, their chief still mostly unharmed - or already healed - and sustaining his minions as he can.

Just as Wynne finishes the spell to boost their weapons, Neldyr unfreezes.

She pointedly avoids looking directly into his eyes as he launches himself at her. Dodging one, and then a second blow; Wynne stepped on the side to ensure her coming attack wouldn’t touch Zevran - she vaguely notes he’s leaping on one foot to let his opponents crash into each other. 

She waits for the thug to close onto her, letting him think he’s about to hit her, before she releases the Stone Fist she’s been summoning, sending him harshly against a shelf with a horrible cracking sound.

No need to worry about him anymore and Wynne now properly concentrates on helping the others as she shoves any thoughts of Neldyr right to the back of her mind. Now is not the time.

But everything comes to an end and when the combat is interrupted, those thoughts come rushing in. And with them, the conflicting emotions and the memories are back.  
Wynne is thankful that the decision to spare his life is not hers to make. She could never have been entirely sure whether or not she’d have let her judgement be clouded. For if one reminded her of Neldyr, she couldn't help the parallel of associating this mage to Uldred, for the corruption he encouraged and provoked. Still, when comes the decision to kill him, her shoulders relax and she can feel herself breathe again.

Luckily, it doesn't take much more time to send him off into the Void.  
But even if she banishes the thoughts as best as she can, the emotions are still here. She can guess they are not as raw as they were back then, but it hurts all the same and she has to lean on the wall for a moment to gather her spirits while the others free the elves.

She’s back on her feet a moment before the last of the elves run back to their home. The others are looking at each other, assessing their respective state, and Alistair steps closer.

“Wynne, are you hurt?”

“No, Alistair, thank you for your concern,” she smiles softly.

He stretches profusely and yawns. “Well, that’s was harsh. How about we take a breath, here?”

As all agree, Zevran takes a few stretches, checking for any soreness while their leader goes and sits on the stairs, deep in thought.

Alistair reaches for the water at his belt and offers the flask to Wynne. He seems to have additional questions and, as always, genuinely concerned. Wynne can’t help but try to reassure him.

“I’m all right Alistair. Just, fighting old memories.”

She smiles up at him as she accepts the flask.

Silence falls softly on them and extends for a bit. Wynne observes them all, reflexively checking if she can see any sign of them being hurt.  
Void! They’re all but children, she realises. She keeps forgetting how young they are. And what burden is on their shoulders! A Blight.  
Although the landsmeet is probably a more pressing matter at the moment.

She’s eternally grateful for them all, but she knows she can’t take their burden.  
Nothing will stop her from giving them her best, though. While she can.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
> Feedback
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> LLF Comment Builder
> 
>  
> 
> I reply to comments unless you don't want me to (sometimes I feel shy when I’m reading and not up to starting a conversation, for example), feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


End file.
